


In Which Clarke Leaves the Ark

by Queer_Lil_Fuqer



Series: Klark Kom Reinkru [1]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queer_Lil_Fuqer/pseuds/Queer_Lil_Fuqer
Summary: Before She Was Sent To The Ground, Clarke Lost Everything





	1. In Which Clarke Loses Her Father

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic, so I hope ya'll enjoy it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Before She Was Sent To The Ground, Clarke Lost Everything~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

Her hand pressed desperately against the glass, eyes wide, brow furrowed, lips and tongue moving, stumbling over her words in her dire need to speak them.

Water strained against the grasp of her attempt on a show of strength for her father. Only a moment later, the poorly built facade cracked and then crumbled as Jake smiled - sorrowful but sincere, full of love and resignation.

“I’m fine, Clarke.” His smile dropped into a more somber look at his next words. “Remember that I have always loved you, and I always will. If you ever even start to forget that, just find our star and know that we _will_ meet again. Don’t make it too soon though.” His smile returned at his macabre joke, and Clarke let out a strangled half-sob, half-bitter-laugh.

One edge of Jake’s lips pulled further up at the sound, showing teeth and creasing the corners of his eyes. “That’s close enough to what I was going for.” The smile dropped a touch as a movement behind Clarke caught his attention, but he returned his focus to her and forced a wider smile, although it was sadder than Clarke thought possible. His eyes shone with love and moisture unwilling to fall.

“I love you, Clarke. Remember to find our star.” With that, a hiss began behind him. “Turn away, Princess.” Jake realized that no one, especially his precious daughter, should have to witness the approaching event. “This is my end, not yours. Safe passage through this life, and may we meet again.”

A guard tugged at her arm, but she shrugged it off, yanking away more forcefully the second time before the hand slowly left her arm. Clarke knew she should listen, close her eyes, to be spared the inevitable anguish, but she couldn’t find it in herself to break eye contact. At his last words, the hissing quickly grew into a _womp_ as the chamber finished depressurizing. Clarke desperately wished she had listened. She wished she was looking anywhere but his suddenly sunken face, twisted in agony, condensation beading on his skin while additional liquid finally floated from his now bulging eyes. For a heart-wrenchingly long minute, Jake remained suspended in front of her, jaw working in a futile effort to produce sound, growing more and more ashen by the second. In a blink, the hatch to the outside slid forcefully open, the change in pressure tearing him away - away from the ark, and away from his dear Clarke.

 

\-----------------

 

Jake’s last thoughts were of brilliant blue eyes and soft, wavy locks as golden as the sun.


	2. In Which Clarke Loses Her Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Before She Was Sent To The Ground, Clarke Lost Everything~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

Clarke finally rediscovered her voice as her father floated from view, the hatch closed and sealed. As air pumped back into the minuscule room (more of a closet, honestly), as the door she was flattened against opened, as she fell to her knees, as she vainly grasped where he had just been, she screamed. As hands wrapped around her upper arms and calves, as she was carried from the area and into a room down the hall, as they laid her on the cot there, she kicked and screamed. As she curled into herself, as the guards moved to stand in the hallway, and as three figures entered in their place, she screamed. She screamed and wailed and sobbed and called out wordlessly to the person she loved most.

 

It all went unanswered.

 

The people in the room allowed the display for another 15 minutes; then one huffed and stepped forward to slap her solidly across the face. Clarke’s face snapped down, now buried in the canvas of her resting place, the blow effectively silencing her. She lay there, so, for a few more minutes until the same person forced her to sit up, tilting her chin so she had no choice but meet her gaze.

Diana Sydney fought the smirk raiding her features and began.

“Do you know why he was floated?”

Clarke choked and distorted her expression, but managed to shake her head.

Sydney frowned, turning to the other two occupants, but Clarke’s mind undulated on a scale of overwhelmingly chaotic to completely blank. Diana had to shake her to come back to the conversation at hand.

“Why do you suspect he did?”

Clarke’s thoughts raced, spinning heavily into the chaotic zone, head shaking.

Sydney’s frown deepened as she stepped closer. “Think long and hard. Don’t even entertain the idea of lying, either.”

Clarke’s head only continued to shake, increasingly violently.

Finally, another approached to intervene. “I really doubt she knows the truth. Leave her be.”

Sydney released her hold on Clarke, growling, “You’d better be right, and not just covering her ass.” With that, she spun and left the trio.

Another stretch of silence filled the room until the second woman spoke again.

“Clarke, sweetie… I-“ She trailed off, then gathered herself. She never had the chance to continue.

“Don’t,” Clarke seethed, glaring with incredible force at the speaker. “There’s nothing you can say. Whatever it was, this is definitely your doing. You pulled the lever - you killed him.” Clarke’s voice cracked harshly at the end. “I hate you,” she added vehemently. “I wish it had been you.”

Abby flinched at her daughter’s words, but recovered and persisted. “Honey, it was for the greater good. I didn’t think… this would happen, but it’s what’s best for everyone-“

“STOP! Stop talking! You know where you can shove your excuses.” Clarke whirled on the Chancellor. “She’ll be needing a separate room, starting tonight.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Thelonious nodded. “But only a week, as per our regulations for grieving, although it is the spouse that often retains the unit to allow the time and space needed.”

Both women fought internal battles before nodding begrudgingly. Clarke because she had hoped for more time away from her, and Abby because understanding of the need outweighed her selfish desire for ill-deserved comfort and time to repair things with her daughter.

“Fine. Once I have sorted through… his things,” she ground out pass her clenched jaw, “ then I would find it permissible for Abby to return.” It wasn’t lost on the other two that she didn’t refer to her as her mother.

But so it was settled.


	3. In Which Abby Loses Her Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Before She Was Sent To The Ground, Clarke Lost Everything~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism

Many people filtered in and out of both remaining Griffin’s individual dwellings over the next few days, although generally out of a perceived obligation to the Council Member and her daughter, rather than true respect for the dead. Abby saw it, but nodded politely, dealing thank you’s where it was deemed appropriate, barely registering the words themselves.

From that first night alone on, Abby Griffin laid awake for hours, awaiting sleep curled around one of Jake’s shirts that lost his scent all too soon. From that night on, Abby plead for dreamless nights, repeating her own personal prayer of sorts, sporadic tears slipping down her blank face.

_ It was for the greater good. _

_ I sacrificed him to save the Ark. _

_ It was necessary. _

_ I had to. _

_ I had to. _

_ I  _ **_had_ ** _ to. _

_ I had to… _


	4. In Which Clarke Reclaims Her Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Before She Was Sent To The Ground, Clarke Lost Everything~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism

Clarke waved off every visitor except Wells. He came by in his free time to bring her rations and make sure she ate, but mostly to keep her company. He help passed their time in mourning playing chess, sorting through Jake’s things, taking about empty nothings (anything to ward off the worse thoughts that threatened), and sometimes just sat in the same vicinity. Mostly, Clarke just stared at a clear spot on the wall, not seeing. She attempted to draw, among other things, but often ended up wrapping her arms around herself, drowning in her father’s clothing, humming his favorite tunes.

On the fifth day, Clarke finally broke her silence.

“He always called me Princess,”

It was barely a whisper, but Wells heard all the same, tensing but not looking up from the tablet he wasn’t reading. Once he realized she wasn’t going to add anything just then, he slumped “I know,” he replied, almost as softly, putting as much gentle fondness into his words as possible. “He was right in that.”

“He was the one to French braid my hair around my head like a crown - or at least, that’s what he insisted it resembled.” Clarke smiled weakly into the pause. Wells nodded and waited for her to go on. “He always knew which stories I’d want to read, and where to find them in the archives.”

A few minutes later, Clarke spoke again, still staring at her blank space on the wall, twisting a stray end of twine that had long fallen from its original knitting in the deep blue sweater. “He was the one that searched for charcoal for me, and whatever I could draw with it on. He always knew what song to sing for me before he did.” Her voice grew stronger but more forlorn as she pressed on. “He knew when to throw a game of chess to cheer me up, and when I’d be upset if he did. He knew when “I don’t want to talk” meant to leave me entirely alone, when it meant I needed to talk, even if I didn’t want to, and when it meant I just needed him to be there with me.” Clarke finally turned to look at Wells with desperate loss and longing. “He knew me **so well,** everything about me. How am I supposed to move on? How can I find that again? Who could possibly fill this - this - this **crater** left inside me?!?”

Wells moved to hold her as she collapsed in on her self. He let her cry herself out as he searched for the right words, speaking only once her tears and shaking subsided.

“There will only ever be one Jake Griffin,” he started slowly, “and that’s what makes him who he is - or, um, well, who he was.” He stopped his choked sputtering when he realized Clarke was nodding minutely. Exhaling deeply, he continued. “You’ll never have another person exactly like him in your life, but that’s not completely terrible. As awful as losing him is, he is still a part of you, his hand print is on your heart. Hell, he helped create your heart in the first place.”

A soft smile can’t to Wells’ lips as Clarke snorted from where she was leaning into him. “There will be _dozens_ of people to leave their hand prints on your heart, for better or for worse, and probably more than once. You don’t “move on,” you move forward. There is no replacing him. No one person can fill that crater on their own. You can only honor the lives of those who have embarked on their final journey to the ground by taking what they gave you and using it to grow. It’s perfectly natural to feel so devastated, and no one can take that from you. Don’t let the bastards who would grind you down. Keep being his princess. Keep reading his books. Keep singing his songs. Keep playing chess, but don’t stop there! Teach someone to play chess, as he did for you. Read more books, sing more songs, earn more nicknames, and give some to others. Be there to throw a chess round, or be there to hand them their ass. Be the one who knows when to push, when to leave, and when to just be there.

“Mortal Jake Griffin might have passed on, but you have the power to make his soul immortal. Spread “Jake” everywhere you go and he’ll never truly be gone. I know it’s cliche, but he lives on in your heart and your mind, just as he now lives in the stars.”

Wells stopped his rant as he stared at the empty wall in the Griffin’s sitting room. Suddenly, he was hyper aware of just how stiffly Clarke was against his side. He blushed, cursing himself.

“Wow, I’m sorry, that was… a lot, and probably mostly out of line. You’re here, mourning the most important person in your life, and I’m here just -“

“Just being a good friend,” Clarke cut him off with a hand on his arm, talking over him such surety and calm that Wells’ words died in his throat. “Thank you. That really did help. A lot. I was just thinking how boring and old we sound. Well,” she corrected herself, “how boring and old **you** sound, and how I sound like a whiny child in comparison. So… thank you.” Her words grew soft toward the end and her voice cracked.

Wells couldn’t help but agree. It seemed 15 was their year for growth.

Clarke had once again collected herself, so continued. “I was also thinking about his last words. He kind of told me the same thing, in many, many fewer words.” She huffed out what might have been a laugh, but the pain and sorrow was solidly rooted. “He told me to find our star whenever I missed him.”

At that, Clarke shot up and over to the few meager boxes that held all that was Jake’s at the time of his passing.

“Our star. **Our** star,” Wells could hear her muttering. While her actions were generally concerning, he trusted the purpose behind this seemingly erratic behavior.

He was not disappointed.

It only took a minute or two for Clarke to stop with a smile, lifting her fisted hand from a box. Then frown.

“If this holds what I think it does, we can’t open it on just any old terminal, but I think… I hope I know where we can.” She leapt to her feet and, for the first time since returning home fatherless, walked to the door.

She paused only to spin to Wells, still sitting on the couch, with a determined fire in her eyes.

“Let’s find out what killed my father.”


	5. In Which Clarke Loses Her Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Before She Was Sent To The Ground, Clarke Lost Everything~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send me suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism

Clarke forced herself to keep to a brisk walk down the path she knew by heart. Anyone they met along the way stepped to the side, some looking at her with surprise and pity, although a large number glared with contempt and disgust, a few going as far as to spit at the feet of the daughter of the criminal who hadn’t warranted a trial.

Upon arriving at her father’s cramped office, Clarke’s jaw clenched at the sight of another already filling his role. Struggling to keep her emotions in check, she managed, “I came here for anything of my father’s.”

The newly promoted officer jumped gratifyingly, but did little to lighten Clarke’s death stare. He stuttered and fumbled and then recovered, straightening. “His stuff is in there,” he sneered, gesturing to a small box, shoved into a corner. “I guess it’s not really his, as the useless traitor is dead.” 

Clarke’s eyes flashed and she growled, “You will never, and I mean  **never** speak of him again.” With that, she swept up Jake’s box and out of the room.

The new head engineer called after them, his words echoing hollowly off the walls of the narrow corridor. “Not exactly much you can do for that expendable dumbass now!”

Both Clarke and Wells froze, knuckles white with force. When their gazes met, Clarke was genuinely surprised and taken aback by the unbridled rage she was met with. When realization finally dawned, her blood ran even colder.

Sweet, gentle Wells.

First to comfort, first to smile.

Son of the chancellor, model citizen.

Pacifist, peace seeking Wells.

“No. No! Leave it. He’s just an asshole.” Wells shook his head with such finality that Clarke’s stomach dropped. “Please don’t.”

He shook his head again. “He deserves it, at least a little bit. Besides, you’ll probably need a distraction. Go on. May we meet again.”

Tears sprung to Clarke’s eyes as she fell into his arms. “At least don’t do anything  **too** stupid. And we will meet again. Soon.”

With that, Wells spun and headed back to the office. Clarke didn’t dare risk lingering and getting caught, so kept to her original course with added haste.

She found the engine room easily enough, as well as the object of her search.

“Raven, right?”

The young woman looked up with a grin. “The one and only!” Her face then drew in more seriously than Clarke thought she was capable of, although her father had only introduced them a couple times. “I’m sorry to hear about your old man. It’s a right shame. Besides being the goddamn best engineer ever, he was easily also the best person.”

Clarke was thankful to only find sincerity and personal grief in her condolences, rather than reactionary pity. She slumped and leaned into the words briefly. “Thank you. But -“ she steered herself and saw Raven’s face resume its usual smirk. “I need your help, but it might get you killed.”

Raven’s eyes sparked and her smirk widened until it was almost a proper grin. Almost.

“What’s life without a little danger?”

“Good.” Clarke couldn’t keep the relief out of her voice. “I need a private server, one that won’t be easily detected. I need to access the files on this drive,” she opened her fist to reveal a small storage device labeled “Polaris” on a strip of tape. “I think this holds the information that my dad died for.”

Raven became somehow more serious and excited simultaneously. “Alright, let’s crack this bitch!”

 

Raven was as good as Jake said she was, and had a screen set up and files open in minutes. Clarke tried to follow what it all said, but couldn’t keep up with the scrolling text and code. Apparently Raven could, if the low whistle she let out was anything to go by.

“I’m impressed by both me and him. As neither of us are too involved in software, he obviously knew his shit, and I’m able to decipher what all it’s saying. But, of course, I’m a genius, so it’s not too surprising that I caught on.” She flashed Clarke a winning smirk (because it wasn’t really a smile) and motioned to the screen. “So here we can see a diagnostic of the oxygen pumps and air filters and the input and output for the past year. Essentially, he was able to extrapolate a ten year prediction.”

Clarke noticed that Raven spoke carefully, steering away from jargon she wouldn’t understand. Squinting at the graph on the screen, Clarke’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t look like ten years.”

“That’s because it’s not. See here,” Raven pointed to the lines that sloped within the boundaries, “There’s obviously a flaw somewhere that’s hindering the efficiency of the system. Bottom line, the Ark is dying, and has maybe five years left.”

They both fell silent, the machinery hissing and groaning and clanking around them. Then Raven made a noise Clarke couldn’t interpret and began typing away at the console.

“It looks like… yeah, it seems as though there are several possible components that contribute to the overall issue, and it could be all of them, or it could be none of them. I think I can condense the relevant information and store it in a locked folder that no one should be able to find - no one but Sinclair. I’d trust him to do the right thing. The only problem is sending it from this terminal to another requires that we link it back to the system - the storage device it came in is ancient, I’m surprised it lasted long enough to get here. Anyway, once we connect back to the system, we’ll be detectable, if even for a moment. Once the folder is moved, the link will be severed and nobody will be able to trace it to its final destination. Like I said, Sinclair will find it and probably knows better where the flaws may be, since he’s more familiar with the system as a whole than I am, if only just. I’ve coded it so he knows to keep quiet about it, but it’s still a risk. We can’t just leave it here and hope for the best. I’m assuming they’ll come looking for you?”

Clarke realized with a start that she wasn’t just thinking aloud anymore, but speaking to her directly. “Um, yes, maybe? I’m not sure, but they’ll definitely come running once the folder is moved. The terminal here will notify the system when it connects, right? And then the data on it will visible to the monitoring programs, but because they’ll be focusing on that, the compressed folder should slip through unnoticed. I mean, if I understand that correctly.”

Raven beamed at Clarke’s frown. “You’re actually a pretty smart little shit - definitely Jake’s.” Both of their faces dropped a little at that, but Clarke decided to take forgo the pain and focus on the complement and problem directly as hand.  _ Move forward,  _ she reminded herself. She could cry later.

“Do it.”

So Raven did.

“Now I guess we wait.”

It wasn’t a long wait.

Within half an hour, they were both cuffed and sitting in the council room, waiting for the Chancellor and at least three council members, as was customary to pass judgement. Two other people in restraints joined them as they waited. One was Wells, who Clarke was glad to see was relatively unharmed, escorted by four guards and Dr Anna Li, Chief Medical Officer. The other was a dark haired girl around Clarke and Wells’ age, along with her own four guards and Councilor Marcus Kane, Head Security Officer. To most everyone’s surprise, Councilor Hank Retter, the oldest council member, having served four Chancellors now, also arrived. After several long minutes, Thelonious arrived, speaking in hushed tones with Councilor Carla Silva.

“So you two know the reason behind Jake’s floating,” the Chancellor began, eyeing Clarke and Raven. In turn, he addressed Wells. “You assaulted a senior officer, and you,” this he directed at the new girl, “are a second. All of these offenses are guaranteed to sentence you to float. However, there is another option.” He paused for effect. “You can be sent to the ground. Not in the metaphorical manner of our traditions, but literally sent down to Earth. You’re all old enough that you would have any sense of how to survive, as we believe it is safe to go down.”

_ Believe being the key word, _ Clarke thought as she noticed the council members exchange looks, indicating it was a blatant lie.

“Anything is better than this shit,” the nameless dark haired girl finally chimed in.

The council members all turned to her. “Octavia, was it? Miss Blake, such vernacular is not appreciated in this setting.” This time, it was Retter speaking.

“And?” she spat. “My presence isn’t appreciated in any setting onboard, so why should I care? I’m definitely in, send me down ASAP.”

Clarke could see every adult in the room grit their teeth, but Raven just grinned. “I like her. And I don’t like just sitting around. I’m with her.”

“No way in hell am I just going to sit and rot while waiting just to die. I’d rather die on my own watch. Going down is a thousand times better, even if we don’t make it two seconds. Sign me up.” Wells only nodded along with Clarke.

Thelonious signed. “So it shall be. Do any council member object?” The doctor was greatly out voted. “The majority rules in favor of sending them to the surface.” To the minors, he said, “It will be to the public that you will all be kept in solitary until you come of age. In reality, you are to depart within the hour.” To the guards, he said, “Gather three days worth of rations for each of them. We can’t spare anymore than that. And get Miss Blake some proper clothing.” She glared at him, but did not protest. Her ill-fitting outfit was more threadbare than thread. Three guards snapped to it. To Doctor Li, he said, “Prepare a basic first aid kit. Nothing fancy, but we wouldn’t want them to die because a little scratch gets infected.” Discontent, the doctor compiled regardless, two guards in tow. To Councilor Silva, he said, “Ensure the pod and radio are ready to launch.” She nodded and left with her own guard. To Officer Kane, he said, “Stay with the children and make sure no one sees them, and they cause no trouble. I will confer with the warden to avoid confusion or suspicion.”

The six guards that accosted Raven and Clarke remain, as well as two more. Although he loitered, Councilor Retter left, leaving Kane to watch them impassively. None spoke simply shifted in their uncomfortable cuffs. True to his word, the Chancellor and guards returned half an hour later and lead them down discreet hall ways to a room that held a fair sized vehicle that was obviously meant for them. Curiously, Clarke noticed several dozen capsules being outfitted with restraints and parachutes, as well other things she couldn’t quite make out.

“Strip,” one of the guards abruptly ordered Octavia, dropping new clothes and a pair of boots in her arms. She and a few others turned their backs to Octavia, forming a barrier of sorts. Another guard shoved a small pack at Wells, which Clarke could only assume held their rations. The doctor handed Clarke the medical kit and wished her quiet luck. Raven was lead over to the ship first to familiarize herself with the controls and radio. Once Octavia was changed, she stalked over as well, Wells and Clarke flanking her.

They were quickly strapped and sealed in the tight space - no warmth, no goodbye, not even a smile. A pulley system maneuvered them closer to the hull where they were settled into a chute. As soon as the attachments disengaged, they were sealed in and given only a moment to prepare before being sucked into space.

 

\----------------

 

Clarke came to, groaning at the ache in her head.  _ Definitely a concussion, _ she thought to herself. She looked around to see the others fumbling out of the buckles, Raven already tinkering with the radio.

“Alright,” Octavia mumbled, disoriented but determined. “Let’s see how founded their  _ belief _ that earth is survivable is.” Before anyone could open their mouths, she all but forced the latch open. There was a slight hiss and pop as the damp air rushed in to meet them. Cautiously, she stepped out into the tree they were wedged in the middle of. Taking in the bright greenery, vibrant blossoms, and buzz of the forest around them, Octavia laughed.

Clarke climbed out on shaky legs, and heard Raven speaking into the no longer crackling radio. “We made it, although the fuel was short of what was necessary for a smooth landing, and the air is breathable. Beyond that, we can’t tell yet if - shit.” Raising her voice, she called, “Hey guys, I know this is great and all, but the radio is busted. Like, even-the-Great-Raven-Reyes-can’t-fix-it kind of busted. It looks like we’re on our own.”

As Raven clambered out behind Wells and beside Clarke, Octavia only laughed more. “Who gives a fuck? We’re back, bitches!”


End file.
